Never the Right TIme
by SaintTuesday
Summary: Post game time travel AU: The first time they meet in the new world, she doesn't know it's a new world yet.


_This is set after the third game, in that weird 'earth' which I think is a load of- well, it's dumb. However detailed knowledge of the game is not required. I'm not even going to try to make this amazingly accurate with the whole 'France' thing, I'm sorry. This is my first foray into FF-13 fanfiction, but I'm sure it won't be my last._

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><p><em>The First <em>_Appearance_

The first time she sees him in the new world, she doesn't know that it is a new world yet. She is barely eight years old, her name is still Claire and he is the most stunning thing she has ever seen.

He is tall, silver hair aflame in the afternoon sun as he leans back with palms outstretched in the hip high summer grasses, eyes closed while the sun bathes his skin gold. It makes him glow as he faces away from her into the sun and she quickly realises that this is because the stranger is naked. She takes a hesitant step towards him and manages to stand on what must be the only twig in the_ entire_ meadow.

He turns slightly, eyes flashing (_was that yellow?_) around the bushes, seeking the noise when he spots her; frozen in a semi-crouch between two of them. Then he smiles at her and it fills his face with such warmth that she unfreezes and whispers her way forward towards him again.

He looks a little amused, but not surprised that she did so, sitting down in the long grass so he could pretend to have some decency left. She advances because nobody ever comes to the meadow, it's just hers and she likes it that way, but this is unusual and Claire is _bored. _Her sister is too little to play out here, won't even leave her mother's side at this new house, she is not about waste a chance to have something to _do_.

She settles out of arms reach, slightly behind him to his left so that he has to turn to look at her. She watches him for a good twenty seconds, watches the rise and fall of his breathing, the way he blinks the hair out of his eyes before announcing with all the self-righteousness an eight year old can possess:

"You're _naked_."

There is a small pause. The man glances down at himself, then back at her and huffs amusement.

"Yes, I am."

His answer comes smoothly, his voice is deeper than her teacher at school but is still pleasant to listen to, and at least he doesn't deny the fact that he's naked. She nods, pleased that she's right then opens her mouth again:

"_Why_ are you naked?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional." He replies, a rueful smile twisting his face while hers screws up into confusion;  
>"In-ten-ton-al?"<br>"Doing something deliberately. This was… not expected. Un-planned." She still looks confused, he struggles a moment. "Uh… Ah, a mistake?" The fog clears.

"Accident?" she pronounces it 'axe-shee-dint' like most small children. He nods back,  
>"Yes. One of those." She beams for a second and he grins back even as she states quite matter of factly:<br>"Not s'posed to be naked."  
>"Not really, no." He agrees, then;<br>"So why _are _you naked? What was the 'cident?" he ponders her question for a moment, brows furrowing in a way that meant big thoughts.

"I don't know."

"Are you a nudist?" she asks, frowning because if he was that meant he was _weird_ and that meant he had poisoned her meadow with his _weird_. Instead he splutters indignantly (slightly concerned that she knows the meaning of the word),  
>"No! No, no I am not." She doesn't relent however;<br>"Then are you a hobo?" He laughs now, shaking his head at her inquisitiveness.

"I don't think I am. I just got a bit lost, that's all."

It's her turn to think now, screwing up her nose in concentration, she watches a butterfly flit around his head for a moment then presses on.  
>"Mom says when you're lost you're s'posed to look for a policeman."<p>

If he frowned before he is scowling now, but the expression clears into a strange hard look (determination, she will later realise but she does not know that face yet.)

"I may have to do that. What is your name?" Now this she knows, confident she proudly declares herself as:

"Claire Farron. What's yours?"

Here is where he chokes a little, eyes widening and a startled expression flickers across his face like it's unfamiliar but _not_.  
>"I see, may I ask you old you are Claire Farron?"<p>

She looks at his kind face, and decides to trust him with her age. If she was wrong she could always run, he would take too long to stand and the ground was treacherous without footwear.

"Eight and three days." She snaps, pleased at being asked. He looked thunderstruck for a moment before smiling again. Somehow it's warmer than the first.  
>"Hello Claire, it's nice to meet you." she bobs her head in recognition, then they sit there, staring at each other until she looses all patience.<br>"Now you."

"What?" A confused blink.

"What's your name and how old are you?" She scrunches her nose, _everyone _knows how this goes.  
>"Oh, I'm about 27. Give or take a few."<br>"Give or take a few what?" Here he gave a bitter smile;  
>"Give or take a thousand years."<p>

She is stunned into silence for a moment.

The man's left wrist starts to glow yellow faintly, something else glows blue inside of the light in a funny shape, he looks at his now shining wrist and sighs.  
>"Ah, it seems I'm off. I was happy to meet you, little Light."<p>

She frowns as what looks like a cross between the bulbs her mother puts in the Christmas lights and the gold glitter her little sister loves to use begins to swirl up and around his extremities.

"That's not my name!" she wrestles with a strange lurch in her gut with a huge scowl, "And that means you're _old_. Nobody's _that_ old!"  
>"I am."<br>"I don't _care_, and you never told me your name!"

He smiles wider, reaching out past where she thought he couldn't reach and his fingertips just touch her fringe. As the glowing lights whirl higher around him, he gradually fades at the edges.

"My name," He said with a peaceful expression, "Is Hope." She can see through his fingers and that's _wrong_.

"That's a girl's name!" She's sputtering with confusion turned into rage; he laughs deeply and stands up.  
>"So?" he shrugs and fades more, the lights are spinning faster and she can see the flowers through his tummy. "It's what I am. I will <em>miss you<em>." (It's a very heavy sentence, a lot of feelings are put into it that she doesn't recognise yet.)  
>She too stands up, now frightened by the strange lights (but somehow not the man loosing himself to them) and almost runs away but his face stops her.<p>

She can only really see his head now and he looks so _sad_-  
>"Wait!" She shouts, "Will I see you again?" and it seems that was the wrong thing to ask because now he's even sadder but with a smile he murmurs almost to faint to hear,<p>

"Maybe."

And he vanishes into the sunlight.

Claire waits in the meadow for the rest of the day and when she finally leaves it's not because it's cold and dark, but because she somehow knows he's not coming back tonight.

She gets shouted at by her mother for not coming home for dinner.  
>She brushes this off for the first time (but not the last, this is only the <em>start <em>of a trend) and grits her teeth when she is sent to bed early but obeys until she can go back to wait the next day, and the next and the next until break is over and she has to go back to school for the last half of summer term and she begins to forget the man in the meadow.

(It's also the very first time she does not immediately tell Serah everything that happens to her that day. It is a strange feeling that sits badly in her stomach, but she wants to keep this man in the meadow as _hers,_ which makes her feel worse.)

She doesn't know why she cares so _much,_ he was a stranger and he had a girl's name but he looked so happy to see her and so _sad_ to go away.

Long after she forgets him, (not completely but she is still eight and new things are almost as interesting as the man in her meadow,) she still likes to look for the flash of gold on silver out of the corner of her eyes and doodle the spiralling little lights that took him away on her work and on her walls.  
>(Her mother encourages this new artistic direction, but does not understand why it has to be on the <em>walls<em> or what triggered it in the first place.)

(They soon run out of gold paint, so Claire switches to silver and glitter and the resulting mess means that they find glitter everywhere for _days_.)

It is a long time (to a little girl) until she sees him again.

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><p><em>End Visit One.<em>


End file.
